Affair on 8th Avenue
by Jilly-chan
Summary: Keisuke and his high school friends take a road trip which turns out to be a pretty crazy couple of days sneaking into bars, having their fortunes read, etc. Set before


Affair On 8th Avenue  
  
By Jillian Storm  
  
(Disclaimer: Keisuke, Duo, Sorata and the others belong to their respective creators. The lyrics, which strongly inspired this particular tale, are from Gordon Lightfoot's songs, "Affair on 8th Avenue" and "The Gypsy." I wrote this because my longer story "Some Half-Baked Ideal Called Wonderful" establishes these three fellows as being boyhood chums. Now and again, they hint about some of those adventures in their pasts; however, they refer to one weekend trip in high school the most. This is the story of that trip. I suppose you can read this without reading Half-Baked, but if you like this-you might want to check out the longer story of their later years as well. One more thing to note, Half-Baked is all from Keisuke's POV. I narrated this differently-varying the perspectives somewhat. Hope it worked. Enjoy.)  
  
***  
  
Beginning  
  
***  
  
When he was fifteen years old, Keisuke Yuuki made a promise. He vowed to God this: if his sophomore year Geography teacher postponed their mid-term paper, then he would believe in God forever. The weather that Friday evening had been brisk, forcing him to wear his heavier coat for the first time that autumn while he walked home from his after school tutorial. His book bag square between his shoulders so that he could keep both of his hands deep in the pockets. Head tucked against the wind.  
  
It was two days later before he thought about either his promise or his Geography homework again.  
  
***  
  
When you we a child at school,  
  
You were taught to read and write,  
  
to take your lessons home at night.  
  
***  
  
At age sixteen, but not by much, Duo Maxwell knew that time was not something to be wasted. If youth was fleeting then every weekend was a possible adventure waiting for him explore, find, or create. Convincing Juri Arisugawa to surrender her keys to her kid brother was just another means to that end. He had found something called 'charm' in his back pocket one day and that it was an almost infallible tool to get what he wanted.  
  
The first part of charm was sounding persuasive. Language, words, coercion. The second part was appearing earnest. Acting, manipulating the facial muscles, wide-eyes. Moreover, what made it most dangerous to others was that Duo found it all came quite naturally.  
  
Consequently, Duo made it his hobby to continually seek out the next 'something to do.'  
  
***  
  
When you were a child at school,  
  
they taught you quite a lot.  
  
You were told when you should speak  
  
and when you should not.  
  
***  
  
Watching it happen, Sorata Arisugawa could not pinpoint why Juri would so easily hand over the keys to her used Buick. Especially when persuaded by one of Sorata's 'questionable' friends. It just didn't fit into the framework of his temperamental, bossy older sister.  
  
Even as he tossed them over to Duo (the only one of all Sorata's friends who could legally drive by that point) and felt the engine turn it seemed all too unlikely. As if he might wake up. Or if he looked in the side view mirror then he'd see Juri chasing after, changing her mind.  
  
"So?" He asked, bravely looking and not seeing anything behind them but empty street, "Where to?"  
  
Duo laughed, letting his hands slip from 'ten' and 'two' into a more comfortable one-handed 'six.' "Heck, I should know. But there's Keisuke, let's see if he wants to come with."  
  
As Duo pulled over and tried to adjust the unreliable heating system, Sorata waved Keisuke to them. Crossing the stiffened, autumn grass to the road, Keisuke fell into the back seat.  
  
Some things start just like that. A series of events not too different from the ordinary, and then you have three young boys speeding down the freeway toward the city.  
  
***  
  
Part One: Gren  
  
***  
  
When they came into the bar, I wondered which door watcher was drunk out of his mind. The three of them couldn't have been more than babies really. The shorter one confidently swinging his keys around a finger. The tallest one hiding under a worn ball cap from some sports team. The third with inquisitive eyes, eagerly absorbing the atmosphere of the place. And you know then why they keep children out of the bars. The contrast in character is startling.  
  
Nothing quite like a handful of innocents contrasted to the shadows of your home to show you just how dark your life has become.  
  
Faye had started toward them with a furious furrow in her brow. She's a funny girl. All about tainting herself, but hates to see others do it. I caught her eye before she could toss them out. Waved her back.  
  
I'm not quite sure why I stopped her.  
  
Faye had paid me to play that evening. So I sat on my stool, a cheap spot light on me. It flickered a bit. Occasionally not working at all, giving me a chance to see the audience better. I've played before in the grey smoke and faded lights of this joint. But never before with the enraptured attention that those boys gave me.  
  
Playing the saxophone can be lonely. It's a sorrowful sound when heard by itself. And with the strap around my neck, I can only feel restrained to it's bittersweet magic. Confined. Alone. And when I feel romantic, enslaved. Captured by the isolating music. Even after that night, it never changed. But for a few moments, I knew that something in those kids was giving me a fleeting hope that I thought I'd lost a long, long time ago.  
  
"I'm taking five. Or ten." I told Faye at the bar. She's leaning back against the counter, sitting on the same stool as always. Just listening. She liked to drown in her alcohol, drown in the music. Helped her forget her own sadness whenever she listened to mine.  
  
"What are you going to do about the kids, Gren?" She said, her aggravation obvious. "I'm not supposed to have minors in here."  
  
"They aren't drinking are they?" My reply was simple enough.  
  
"If they do, they're gone." She threatened. "And don't you get any funny ideas." She glanced over my loose silk shirt and dark pants. I know what she's getting at and I laughed really slow. Almost like exhaling a breath in small portions.  
  
"Listen, kiddo," I reminded her she wasn't that old herself, "I'm a gentleman. You know that."  
  
"Yeah," Faye drooped a bit, relaxing, "I know that." She sighed, the darkness of the place was sinking into all of us. "So, you are going to talk to them, right?"  
  
I answered her by going over and pulling out the free chair at the boy's table. "Hi, I'm Gren."  
  
"Wicked sax, man!" The smaller boy gave me a toothy grin. His hair was fairly long and pulled back into a girlish braid, but neither that nor his chubby cheeks could disguise the full-grown manliness waiting, vibrating just beneath his skin.  
  
"Do you play?" I saw his fingers twitch in a familiar pattern.  
  
"A bit," He waved his hand in false modesty, "But no where near your talent. The way you skipped and improvised notes on that last song is way out of my league."  
  
"If you heard that, then you've got a better ear than you give yourself credit for." I took my drink from the server that appeared at my elbow. The three of them collectively held their breath from excitement as I set the alcohol on the table. "The secret to success is to keep on auditioning. You'll pick up some of the trade secrets as you get . . . older . . . speaking of which . . ."  
  
They also collectively wilt. I tried not to smile at that, hiding it behind my palm as I use my arm to balance against the tabletop. "Now kids, if we were going to kick you out we would have done it a long time ago."  
  
"I told you!" The sandy-haired kid pointed triumphantly at the taller boy with the baseball cap who amiably whined back about an unhealthy surplus of optimism.  
  
"Now if you're done with your *cokes*, gentlemen," I couldn't help but remind them they didn't belong in our establishment, "It's getting a bit late for you guys to be out."  
  
"Damn, I wanted to hear you play more." The hopeful sax player seemed torn between accepting what he'd been given so far and insisting on more.  
  
"You'll be listening to yourself often enough," I stood up, indicating that they should do the same. "I insist you keep practicing. Send me an invitation once you get set up on your own."  
  
I passed him my card, and that was enough to convince them to leave. But, I found myself staying in that same chair. Feeling their absence as the server cleared away the three used cokes. It's a darn shame how a refreshing breeze like those kids only makes the remaining stuffiness that much more worse.  
  
Someone got the spotlight working again, and I played the rest of the evening almost, but not quite, like they had never been there.  
  
***  
  
We came through a doorway somewhere in the night.  
  
And she showed me her treasures of paper and tin,  
  
and then we played a game only she could win.  
  
"How long," said she,  
  
"Can a moment like this belong to someone?  
  
What's wrong? What is right?  
  
When to live or to die? We must almost be born.  
  
So, if you should ask me what secrets I hide,  
  
I'm only a lover, don't make me decide."  
  
Her long flowing hair came softly undone and it lay all around.  
  
And she brushed it down  
  
as I stood by her side in the warmth of her love.  
  
And she told me a riddle I'll never forget,  
  
then left with the answer I've never found yet.  
  
***  
  
Part Two: Nuriko  
  
***  
  
The munchkins were a rather pathetic bunch when I found them at the side of the road. If you ask me, I'm not certain at all why I bothered to stop. Except maybe seeing them all balanced on the hill next to the freeway, digging their heels in and staring at that filthy Buick like their best friend had just died. Except that wasn't exactly true, because they were all alive and all together and all still miserable.  
  
"Do you guys realize that it's two in the morning?" I hollered at them from inside my used Jaguar. I might have started making a decent living by then, but only if I was willing to buy used and act like it was first class.  
  
"Tell us something we don't know." One of them hollered back.  
  
I wasn't impressed with the snotty comment. Only, it wasn't really snotty. The half-hearted retort only showed how young they were. Sixteen at best. Darn them, if it didn't make me all sentimental for when I was sixteen and wanting nothing more than someone to help me out. They could make it on their own, if only one of them could be practical enough to change a flat tire.  
  
From the looks on their faces, I knew they hadn't expected a handsome gal dressed up in heels to step out of the silver Jaguar and study the rear flat with well-manicured hands on either hip. I had just gotten off work, an easy job singing for a club back in the city. Of course, I was wearing one of my finer gowns and had my thick hair piled up in a spectacular do. It was only a matter of seconds before all three of them were apologizing up and down, insisting on doing it all themselves . . . if I didn't mind perhaps overseeing and giving . . . maybe . . . suggestions.  
  
Who was I to turn down three cuties?  
  
"You shouldn't smoke." The tall boy watched me closer as his friends struggled with the tire. I'm impressed by how hard they can make it look. I had started up a cigarette to give my lips something else to do than burst out laughing.  
  
"You're right, I shouldn't." I nodded, "But then there are a lot of things in life you shouldn't do, and people do them anyway."  
  
"Doesn't make it healthy," He insisted stubbornly, twisting his baseball cap backwards with one hand. Giving a better look at his face, not hard to look at given the simple beauty of it all. Dark brows, weak eyes, pressed lips. Then he starts to laugh, in a peculiar way that sounds like a record being played too fast, "But you make it look damn hot!"  
  
If I hadn't already done so, I would have decided I liked him then and there. "Want one?" I flirted more suggestively, enjoying the way he squirmed and mouthed 'no, no' the best he could under the circumstances.  
  
"What's so funny?" The kid in the big coat walked up, looking a bit nervously between his friend and myself.  
  
"Want a drag?" I offered coyly.  
  
He blinked at me a few times. It took that one a minute or two to decide what I meant by saying what I had and then he said, even more nervously, "I don't . . . thanks." Just then, I thought I'd been found out, but if he got my little inside joke the kid didn't let on. The tall boy laughed again, pulled his cap back around and slugged his buddy in the shoulder. Big-coat-kid stumbled backward a bit but responded with a more affectionate slap.  
  
"Keisuke, where'd you go?" The braided-boy stared perplexed at the tire, squatting so that he sat balanced between his knees. "Does this look right?"  
  
Big-coat-kid looked it over, then shrugged, "What do you think, ma'am?" He asked me real polite. Someone raised this munchkin right, treating me decent even after I startled him with the invitation earlier.  
  
"Maybe if you follow us for a bit and make sure it doesn't fall off again," The tall boy helplessly scratched at his cap, which sat backwards again allowing him to pull on some of his fine black hair.  
  
Now that they were entertaining my generosity, I figured I'd take them for a real trip, "You boys have any place you need to be getting back to?"  
  
"Home," said the big-coat-kid, Keisuke.  
  
"Shit," The braided boy shot his friend a look of disbelief, "We're in enough trouble as it is. Why not make the most of it before you and Sorata get grounded?"  
  
The tall kid, Sorata, nodded, wrapping an arm around the reluctant Keisuke, "If we won't get to see each other outside of school for the next . . . month, we might as well make it a night tonight." It wasn't hard to recognize that if Sorata asked, there wasn't anything that Keisuke would say "no" to.  
  
So before I knew it, I had three juveniles crashing in my apartment for the evening. I put away some of the more interesting garments I had left out and about. "Sorry, boys. This lady doesn't bring home many visitors."  
  
"That's okay." Keisuke smiled as if there was no need for me to apologize. He's certainly the diplomatic one of the bunch. But even he looked about awkwardly, trying to decide where to sit or stand or lean.  
  
"It seems so lonely here." Sorata said before Keisuke could elbow him.  
  
I glanced around the room, pink walls fully decorated, extravagant curtains, a full wardrobe of fine and more flamboyant costumes, shoes everywhere, leopard print bedding and furniture covered in supplies of make- up and printed text. Lonely? Funny he should put it that way, because as busy as I tried to make it, that was the only word to put on it.  
  
"Scripts?" Sorata picked up one from the vanity chair, and I had a double vision of him. One real and the other reflected in the mirror with electric bulbs outlining it with a full powered glow. Keisuke peered over his shoulder, seeming torn between curiosity and telling Sorata it was none of his business.  
  
I wondered again at how much Keisuke thought Sorata was his business. "Yes, luv. Lady Nuriko here is aspiring to be an actress." When they all shot me skeptical glances, I covered my mouth and pretended to sob, "You don't be-lieeeeeve me?" Then I got three very confused looks. Keisuke seemed ready to apologize and Sorata's eyes were crossed  
  
The third kid started to laugh, "Now I believe you. Drama queen."  
  
If only they knew.  
  
My space was rather small, so I against my better judgment-but when do I ever listen to that-I pressured Keisuke into sharing the bed with Sorata. Duo, as I found out his name, curled up on a pile of my bathrobes. I sat on the cleared vanity chair and stared out the window. Wondering where the stars were hiding themselves in that streetlight polluted sky.  
  
Then realized that I had three of them snoring in my very room.  
  
I didn't sleep a wink that night, and did some long overdue thinking until I brushed out my hair.  
  
"It's purple isn't it?"  
  
"Yup," I spoke softly, imitating Sorata who must have found a way to slip out of Keisuke's unconscious embrace. "I like it purple. Don't you think it's pretty?"  
  
"Yes." He said with sincerity that just stabs your heart and rips it up and then kisses you back together. "You're very hot."  
  
"Beautiful, honey." The moment was lost, "Say beautiful. Tell a lady she's hot and she's going to smack you good."  
  
"It's true." He sighed. Somehow one day with me had exhausted these fallen stars. "You are beautiful. I really hope I find someone as beautiful someday."  
  
I don't know why he chose to talk about that, and with me of all people. But I can't help but see the sensitive little guy still snuggled in my leopard print sheets, all by himself, and wonder what will come of the two of them.  
  
"It's not about beauty sometimes, sweetie," I said flippantly, knowing that if Sorata didn't figure it out on his own one day, no one would ever tell him, "It's about finding someone to love."  
  
One by one, they said their farewells as they stood in the hallway the next afternoon. Staring back in my room as if they couldn't imagine having slept in such a space that looked like a rainbow had spit all over it. It had been a fun morning, re-braiding Duo's hair and making Keisuke blush.  
  
Then I let them loose to sparkle wherever they wandered.  
  
I wonder if they know that my first solo album was dedicated to them?  
  
***  
  
"Step inside my tent," said she,  
  
"I'd like to read you palm.  
  
Leave the dollar in the jar,  
  
this won't take very long.  
  
Leave the circus noise behind.  
  
Close your eyes, relax your mind,  
  
I'll tell you if you should quit now  
  
or if you should go on."  
  
She lit a candle with her eyes  
  
and then she made the table rise.  
  
She took the dollar from the jar  
  
and then she guessed my weight.  
  
She threw some sawdust in the air  
  
and her hands began to shake.  
  
She told me the town where I was born,  
  
she almost knew the date.  
  
***  
  
Part Three: Hokuto  
  
***  
  
I heard them as they came in, while I sat behind my curtain. Listening to their nervous chatter. Learning things about them before I even saw their faces. But that's the nature of the business. Capturing their hearts in part and letting them reveal the rest in their eyes, the nervous lips, the sweaty palms while they sit before me. It's the palms that give most of them away. Vulnerable in my hands. Twitching when I hint at something that turns to truth.  
  
Every now and again I'll have a real vision. And that night was one of them. I called my brother right afterwards, since real visions are a little frightening and he's more experienced at handling the physical backwash of psychic headache.  
  
Part of the fun is dressing like an old loony called Madam Scharmie. I put on a veil decorated with gold coins over my face and hide my black hair first with a grey shawl then another dark veil. After that, their imagination and the shadows fill the remaining space of old Scharmie existence. Besides, who'd believe a cute twenty-six year old Japanese girl?  
  
The incense smoke was pretty strong by the time the first boy crossed my palm with currency. He wrinkled his nose skeptically and fingered his brimmed hat like a lifeline. I recognized his voice by the instantaneous squeak as I firmly took his fingers. This is Sorata. The one who hoped the fortuneteller was "hot."  
  
I frightened him a bit with some doom and gloom. Suggesting that he'd face great troubles in his life and have a challenging career. Chauvinists deserve it a bit, but I must have been mistaken that night because in a sharp prick behind my eyes I suddenly saw a vision. It's like having a needle stabbed into your skull and a rush of something injected. That's the best way I can put it. But I sensed in the chemical overload a woman, with narrow eyes. Taking a sword and plunging it into this boy's still beating heart. The one woman he'll ever care for.  
  
He's a bit spooked. But I don't blame him. So am I. I heard the snickering from the one called Duo as Sorata stumbled out from my curtained off corner.  
  
Duo comes in next and I'm a bit startled that with such a loud mouth, he was still a pretty small guy. I didn't feel the same contractions of pain and proceeded to plant doubts that he was destined to be the short one and die ridiculously young. It wasn't my best job, but I was still in some part reliving the pictures from the real vision.  
  
My rasping voice wasn't faked as the third boy, Keisuke walked right into my chair. Making quite a racket. The shadows of my vision strengthened and I saw a third person. The more adult features of this person juxtaposing with the younger man in front of me. I was seeing him aging in my brain.  
  
He's watching me with large eyes, as I mutter to myself. Sometimes by chanting a spell, the vision will become clearer. Too many faces were overlapping, then the figures split and divided so that I knew their future was not determined. And the simple truth of it was that whatever happened, the boy in front of me would set the wheels of fate by his own whim and choice.  
  
Having seen such destiny break many people, I felt a sudden pity for the boy who only wanted to take care of his friends from what little I knew of him. I took his palm, hoping to hide my inner distress as the vision continued in front of my eyes even while I stared at his hand.  
  
For some reason, by pulling his hand and the vision together, I got a better picture of the possible futures. I spoke without listening to myself. Simply saying whatever I could in hopes that he'd understand what I was seeing. If not immediately, then perhaps in the future.  
  
But while most fortunes I give are fickle nonsense, real ones are vague and important. And over time, they diminish. Misunderstood, forgotten, denied. But approaching nonetheless.  
  
I woke up spread across my table, having broken another crystal ball after knocking it off in my dead faint.  
  
"Objective, Keisuke." My head pounding, "Can you manage to be objective through it all?"  
  
When my brother rushed by to check on me, Subaru offered a prayer up to the spirits. Asking them to guide the true vision to the best possible outcome. But faith is a funny things, and so are visions. Some people, like my brother are simply better suited to divine business. He has the compassion needed for it.  
  
After that time, I gave up the fortune telling business. It wasn't worth getting involved in if there was nothing I could do about those blasted visions myself. I hate bearing bad news, especially to good-hearted kids.  
  
Besides, more people will hit on an undisguised, cute, twenty-six year old, Japanese girl.  
  
***  
  
Then when I came home  
  
that night to lie in bed awake,  
  
I thought of that old gypsy  
  
and the words that she had said.  
  
And now I see with due respect,  
  
the more we learn the worse we get.  
  
***  
  
They had spent the first evening in the bar, then spent the following night with their pretty prostitute. After a leisurely drive, Madam Scharmie had managed to convince each of them to take vows that they would never again go to another fortuneteller.  
  
Keisuke shuddered, that was two vows in so little time. And the fear of his mother's reaction was only second to the Geography paper he'd completely neglected. And just was remembering with a sense of foreboding disaster.  
  
"Objected?" Keisuke fretted alone in the backseat. "What do you think she meant by that?"  
  
"I thought she said 'objectify'. Oh stop, we decided not to talk about that." Sorata said, more sternly than he normally would. He wasn't keen on thinking about his fortune either. Wishing the old woman had stopped after the part about the Samurai woman in his destiny being hot.  
  
"Do I need to stop this car?" Duo growled, the need for sleep wearing in on his good nature. "If you two don't knock it off, I'll drive off the road . . . or something."  
  
"I'm going to have a hard enough time explaining the tire to Juri, without you totaling it." Sorata whined, his hat twisted in both of his hands.  
  
Keisuke stared out the window, his coat folded in his lap and decided to stop worrying about the fortune to worry about the paper instead. Pulling into their hometown, it was almost eight in the morning exactly. Duo had also made them promise not to talk about the wrong turn that took them completely out of state.  
  
Almost eight o'clock. The chapel bells of St. Mary's started to play just as they drove past the block where the historical cathedral was built.  
  
"Wait." Keisuke pulled on Sorata's headrest, "I need to go to church."  
  
"I thought your mom wasn't making you go anymore?" Duo asked, rolling his chin over one shoulder to give Keisuke a direct look. "Not to mention, remember what you're wearing."  
  
"I don't care," Keisuke said, a bit more desperately as they continued past the church building, "I need to go . . . I've promised. I made a promise."  
  
"Okay, sure." Duo said doubtfully, and was more than a bit surprised when Keisuke actually did get out of the car and ran back toward the ringing bells. "I guess we spooked him pretty bad?" He glanced at Sorata for reassurance.  
  
"Keisuke will be fine," Sorata shrugged sadly, "Who can understand that guy? Besides, I figure just to always let him do whatever makes him happy."  
  
That wasn't the only surprise waiting for them.  
  
Duo had completely escaped punishment since he got back home in one piece. Which was all that his parents ever really asked of him. Sorata on the other hand was 'grounded for life.' Once Keisuke got home after Sunday services, his mother had been more passively aggressive--crying to herself the entire day while her son followed her around--every other comment an heart-felt apology.  
  
And they both were equally baffled when Keisuke enthusiastically jumped out of his chair Monday morning in Geography class.  
  
"I've never seen him so excited about having homework postponed?" Duo whispered to Sorata, wiggling his finger around to indicate an obvious lack in Keisuke's sanity.  
  
"Don't ask me." Sorata shook his head, "I'll never quite understand what make Keisuke tick."  
  
The end.  
  
Author's Notes: After having the characters in "Some Half-Baked Ideal Called Wonderful" talk about this road trip so much, I figured I'd try to flesh it out a bit. Obviously, this is where Duo started dreaming about being a saxophone player, they had their interaction with the "pretty prostitute" (of course none of them figuring out that Nuriko was a guy) and Madam Scharmie bestows upon them that mixed up prophecy that quite honestly gives *me* a headache. What was most interesting for me personally though was not writing Keisuke in first person. It was very, very weird after spending so much time in his head to suddenly have other characters looking at him. Golly, I don't know how well this does without Half-Baked, or if really adds much to Half-Baked, but thanks for indulging me. *smile* 


End file.
